[Jackie Maradona]

[attr="class","susurrus"]

[attr="class","jikan"] [attr="class","hiraeth"]私は世界を変えたい

[attr="class","achee"] [attr="class","castleonthehill"] ❝ The internet's chatter had been, for the time since she'd arrived in Japan as a vigilante, instrumental to Jackie's success. Though she was less skilled in the direct act of accessing all its contents, including the aspects regarding infiltration, she could craft software more capable than any human could ever hope to be in that regard — to that end, the vigilante would argue she was, in more efficient than any lone hacker could manage. Though, in the case of the wide net she cast, there often circulated different kinds of intel, ones ranging wildly from local cryptids to the sightings of new vigilantes. Most namely, in the case of today's excursion, unnatural phenomena were a particular topic of interest. Though most tended to be nothing more than explainable occurrences — often incidents that the average folk weren't equipped to explain — they sometimes held jewels to be found. And, hopefully, this time would prove to hold something intriguing. Standing before the dilapidated house, the Argentine tipped her cap back, looking to examine the outside. As the legend went, there resided in this place a spirit — a ghoul of sorts — that traveled the electricity still running through this place. Exposed wires, damaged appliances — anything powered by electricity could prove fatal. Though, to teenagers, most anything could prove dangerous; hopefully, she was experienced to handle what lay within. "Look, I get yer interested in all this hullabaloo–" came a voice in Jackie's mind– "but what do ya even hope to gain? Not like yer guaranteed ta harness whatever ya find." Pundit — Jackie's quirk — was more sentient than it had any right to be, and even more so of an annoyance because of it. She supposed it was a better fate than some had with theirs. It wasn't like she was actively discriminated upon by the basis of it, at least. Then again, she was the only one who had to deal with Pundit's constant presence, no matter how loudly she tried to drown out the world around her. "But I might," she thought, "and that's enough for me." Jackie stepped through the doorframe, reaching over the splintered door that now lay off his hinges. The walls had gradually been covered in graffiti — most of which seemed incomplete — and trash was littered along the sides beneath it. Some of the floorboards jutted upwards, almost like spikes, leaving the vigilante to hop over or step around them. "Place is a bit of a shit'ole, though." "Bunch'a street urchins tryin' to make a hangout spot, I'm guessin'?" "Clearly didn't 'tick around too long." Tracing a finger along the wall and into the kitchen, Jackie looked from cabinet to cabinet, from the silent microwave to the rusted oven. "Where do shou think it's 'iding?" "I don't think it exists, frankly." "What, don't be'ieve in ghosts?" "Ya don't believe in ghosts either." "No, I totally do." "I am literally in your mind; I know what yer fuckin thinkin' every second of every day." "Then shou know 'ow fun it is to annoy shou." ✉ tag -- Yukine Kobayashi ✎ 502 words ※ Step Into The House

[attr="class","ache"]

MADE BY MIZO

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[Yukine Kobayashi]

The house was a squat, two-story structure that sat on a postage-stamp of land, sandwiched between two buildings that pressed-up against it and swallowed the sky. Something about the residence was jarring– perhaps it was the gravel path to the door with chest-high weeds, or perhaps it was the boarded-up window with a sagging iron grille. Perhaps it was that the lone second-floor window that was visible from the street, un-boarded, was slightly off-center and had rust creeping up one corner that, at a glance, looked vaguely person-shaped. Or, worst of all, perhaps it was the security cameras that still swiveled on their housings and lights still flickered on and off, despite the electricity having been disconnected two decades prior.

The only indication that the home had ever been inhabited was a single, wooden name plaque on the outer wall surrounding the front yard. There were two symbols carved there– Kobayashi. But anyone who had been foolhardy enough to approach the residence over the last two decades, however, would tell you that something still dwelled there– something not of this world.

***

The wiring of the house sprawled before the spirit like a mess of highway interchanges, each dim but thrumming with potential. Each wire was a road that snaked through dark forests of insulation in the walls– tunnels without destinations. No, not roads. The wires sprawled without reason like nerves through a body. The spirit was both brain and impulse alike, but it was the brain of a dead man, exercising no conscious will over the body– the home– that contained it. Perhaps when the house finally eroded to rubble– when the body finally died– the spirit, too, would be permitted to die. Instead it just waxed and waned as the moon did, through periods of darkness and clarity.

It lingered near the outlet on the second floor landing, where Mrs. Kobayashi had once plugged the vacuum in when cleaning the house. The spirit extended into another branch of wire, one tendril lazily extending towards the wall-mounted security camera. Those had been the handiwork of Mr. Kobayashi, who watched the comings-and-goings of medical professionals past with great scrutiny. Now, the cameras served as one of the spirit’s few windows to the outside world.

Then, there were the itches– could ghosts itch? This one did. People were always coming into its house like pathogens entering into a bloodstream. It was like a mosquito bite in the small of your back– the spirit could feel them moving through the house before he saw them. And this intruder? She was no different. It groaned inaudibly, stirring from its sleep. Someone else was here–he could feel the itch between his shoulders, small but still agitating.

The entryway was lower than the rest of the house, to allow for those who entered to kick off their shoes– though, with all the broken glass and detritus, walking barefoot was not the wisest decision. Still, each step would be telling– the quiet crackle of static beneath each footfall, as the woman crossed from foyer to living room. It would be as if she were dragging her feet against carpet– but even through the grime, the floors had clearly been some sort of tile or laminate.

The spirit followed the familiar network of wires along the line of the ceiling, curious but also annoyed by whatever had entered its domicile. The ceiling light on the second floor landing, just barely visible from the entryway, gave a weak hum and a half-hearted flicker. Then the house fell silent once again. The low light of sunset seeped through the door, casting only parts of the room in a rich red-pink. The rest lay in deep shadow.

A red light blinked into existence in the darkened corner of the living room, just opposite of the door. It was weak but clearly noticeable. Around it were couches that were more dust than upholstery, a broken coffee table, and a television. Diagonal from the door, what had once been a kitchen and dining space. The whole space had once been minimalist and modern, which would account for the blandness of the building’s façade– but in such a state of disrepair it just felt… uncanny. In life it lacked the warmth of comfort of a lived-in home, and now it had truly taken a turn for the worst. The graffiti and trash were just icing on the cake.

The red light went on blinking, and the camera whirred as it pointed towards the door. A series of clicks followed as it focused upon the intruder.

[Jackie Maradona]

[attr="class","susurrus"]

[attr="class","jikan"] [attr="class","hiraeth"]私は世界を変えたい

[attr="class","achee"] [attr="class","castleonthehill"] ❝ Shattered glass crunched beneath her leather boots, grinding into dust as she further stepped through the shambles of what had once been beautiful — or, she supposed, beautiful by the standards of having once lived. Were one to ask Jackie, though, the place was drab in all the things making it a "home," with little left to identify itself as something more than a box with four cold walls turned inwards. Some of what formerly made it lively could have been seized by the boyish rabble — the ones who'd mark the walls in their amateur work — but the vigilante couldn't figure that to be the case. If this place was as speculated, she didn't imagine most were in here long enough to steal anything of interest. She wondered, then, what this place once was before it all fell apart. Had it been so mundane before such desolation left its heart to crumble? Had this place, regardless of its contents or hospitability (or lack thereof), housed a family full of life and love? She wanted to believe there had been — perhaps out of a faith that others were blessed with a family like her own — but she couldn't picture such a family to leave this place in such a state. No, had they just moved on to better things, this pitiable heap of ruins wouldn't be left behind to tell its tale; it would have surely been crushed from either side otherwise. As she continued to step along her path, passing over chipped tiling, Jackie felt herself twitch with the low humming of electricity, something noted as an impossibility. Her focus darted from place to place, paying mind to oddities — such as the flicker of light from the second floor — and places where danger may arise. She had to wonder, though; what was it that perpetuated this place as a matter of cryptic relevance? Not in the spreading awareness of the place, but in the literal mechanics of how this place remained "haunted?" Logical answers such as gas buildup or electrical fritzes were long since disregarded — the power had been cut for decades, and gases couldn't explain the similarity between testimonies of what they'd seen — so the answer must lie within the inexplicable: Quirks, that readily defied the logic of what was considered possible, did as they saw fit to generate the unimaginable realities beyond the human mind; it was the terrifying truth of this world. But as to how a quirk would accomplish this feat? She didn't know, and she was sure most others were aligned in that fact. Emerging from Jackie's flesh came her quirk's form: a being with a spherical shape that, despite its pair of comically small wings, floated regardless of its weight. Its white exterior poked out of the user's cloak and into sight of the camera, peering away to the rest of the space. "Y'know, if it is a quirk doin' all this, then it's gotta be tied to a person. Ya know that, right?" Jackie would continue along leisurely, twisting her gaze about. "It could be an animal, far as we know." "Person or animal," the quirk bristled, "it's still gonna be a livin' creature, a dangerous creature; what's the plan when it shows?" "Shou know, I wouldn't rule out the possibi'ity that it's a plant." "What's that gotta do with anythin'?" "Nothing; I just want shou to shut up." Pundit rolled its eyes, averting its gaze from Jackie and towards the opposite corner. "I don't get yer deal," it mused. "Ya wanna go out, try to find some local cryptid, and then what? Try ta weaponize it? Put it on a leash like a goddamn pet? Cuz I'll tell ya, I ain't gettin' replaced as the adorable face 'round here, see?" "It's amu'ing shou think that." "Only thing ya got goin' fer ya's me." "So my mecha'ical genius–" she emphasized her use of 'genius'– "doesn't count all of a sudden?" "No, cuz ya learned how ta do all that to use me. Y'know, ya oughta... give me more..." The quirk's voice slowly came to a halt, its improper prose put into silence as its gaze fixated on the corner of the living room. In a room that had once been filled with their argument, stillness had now fallen upon them. Focusing her gaze on her quirk, she tracked its gaze to the glowing red dot in the room. "...Power in this place been cut for years, right?" "Mm." "Then we get to see yer cryptid after all." Jackie and her quirk stared down the lens of the camera, with neither of the two making a move. The being living in these desolate walls wound find a rather odd sight of a person; beyond her dress of darkened jeans and a white sweatshirt, she was further adorned by a larger cloak left open at the front and a brigadier cap sat atop her golden hair. The warm hues of red caressed her cheek as she stood there, winking in her amber stare. "Not a fan of being watched," she breathed, fixing her gaze squarely on the camera, "but I can't ima'ine shour the type to talk face-to-face, shes?" Her accent was noticeably thick in her speech, with the Argentine clearly uncomfortable speaking the language (even despite her attained excellence within it). It was such that she addressed the mystery; if it was something to be reasoned with, it was only reasonable to bet on the language of this land. "Can shou 'peak? Or generally, commu'icate?" ✉ tag -- Yukine Kobayashi ✎ 980 words ※ Like Playing Phasmophobia

[attr="class","ache"]

MADE BY MIZO

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[Yukine Kobayashi]

A winged orb emerged from the woman, and the woman began to converse with the sprite. Their words fizzled and hummed like static, muffled by the walls, tickling at the specter’s brain. It was like the melody of an old song that you hadn’t heard in years drifting through the doors of a bar. If you could just push open the doors and hear it better, perhaps you would have some revelation or insight into the person you once were–

The spirit of the house was resting just behind the camera, shuddering as the woman ventured further. If it could just make out the words that she was saying, then perhaps it could… get to the root of its own truth. It pressed more emphatically against the confines of the camera, beyond the lens that allowed it to see out, and it felt a small *pop!* as it found the microphone of the found the wiring that connected to the microphone.

“-some local cryptid, and then what? Try ta weaponize it?-”

Whoa, that was new. In all its years of being trapped here, it had never gotten the microphone to work. Still, the specter lingered, listening to the disembodied voice ridiculing its female counterpart. The excitement was short-lived when the spirit registered that the two seemed to be arguing with one another. It noticed the silence, however, and it returned its attention to the lens– and it was astounded to find that the intruders were watching it back. The lens clicked a few times again, refocusing on the pair. Whatever was watching them wasn’t looking away.

"Not a fan of being watched, but I can't ima'ine shour the type to talk face-to-face, shes?"

The woman’s address sent a thrill through the ghost– fear, dread– roiling like worms. Most people ignored the spirit, disrespecting its house and invoking its fury. They would taunt it from what had once been its family’s living room, its family’s kitchen and dining area, from its sister’s old bedroom. The spirit had come to expect that kind of disrespect and ignorance, and anticipated doling-out some sort of justice on its family’s behalf.

It did not expect people to address it directly, moreover in such reluctant tones. It– it didn’t– understand-- did all those people, all of those years, know that he was here? Did they even care? Or was this all just a game to them? Let’s go to the house where the boy died and never once pause to think that he might still be there!

The camera light ceased its rhythmical blinking, and instead glowed a resolute red. A fury was roiling in the spirit’s core, knotting itself over and over as fear, and frustration, and confusion added itself to the mix. Why was this lady any different? Why was she trying to talk to him? Was she dangerous? Could she hurt him? Or ruin his house like every other person had done before?

"Can shou 'peak? Or generally, commu'icate?"

The light on the camera brightened, an audible hum building in the wall, pitching higher and higher. He wouldn’t let her take his house– he wouldn’t let her hurt him–she couldn’t be allowed to destroy the place any more. The hum was unignorable, almost like the cry of an overworked computer-fan– but it ended in a weak little *pop!* when the camera had taken all it could bear. The light fizzled out, and a small tendril of smoke looped and curled from the camera. Whatever the spirit had done, its camera in the living room was fried.

No– she had to go– it had to find a way to make her go–

The spirit followed the same circuit to the plug where the t.v. was, and immediately pressed against it as it had done before. The t.v. flicked on, seemingly on its own volition, painting the darkness in rippling white light of static, the speakers similarly filling the space with the torrent of deafening white-noise. The screen had, at one point, been cracked, sending an iridescent band of light off to one side.

If it could hear and see through the lens of a camera and its built-in microphone… Perhaps a similar logic would hold for the speakers of the t.v. …?

The spirit spilled out the wall, allowing itself to flood the t.v. with its power until it pressed against all edges of the old electronic. Even if it no longer had a body, it still remembered the feeling of speech. All it had to do was open its mouth, and–

The noise thinned out of existence, making way for a single uttered word–

<< Why? >>

The question was plaintive, the voice that cut through the static was breathy but boyish. The static rushed into the silence behind the word, filling the void once again. But the word had clearly been there. The spirit could see her, still, albeit from a lower angle now– and could hear her, too, because of the built-in features of the television. But– time was a funny thing, for a creature that had nothing but time– its attention would wax and wane with little indication as to why, and one moment its lucid mind would ask “why?” while the next it would be blindly fearful of the person before it.

The spirit pressed further against the screen, a smudge of black becoming visible against the screen in sharp contrast to the static around it. The spot grew and grew until it resembled a head and a bust cast in a flat black. Two glowing, white eyes bore into the woman. A hand and arm emerged from the static, too, pressing its palm against the glass.

Little arcs of electricity slithered across the carpet, etching little serpentine burns towards the woman.

<< WHY? >> the spirit repeated, its tone more terse, now. And when it spoke, the silhouette’s mouth formed the word as it was uttered, its inner mouth glowing white.

Another hand joined the first against the glass, palms flat. Its luminous gaze was unblinking, and its face was devoid of most comforting features that one would expect on a human face-- much like the lack of features upon the house that it inhabited--

[Jackie Maradona]

[attr="class","susurrus"]

[attr="class","jikan"] [attr="class","hiraeth"]私は世界を変えたい

[attr="class","achee"] [attr="class","castleonthehill"] ❝ Was there truly a difference between the vigilante and the many who trod upon the sprite's sacred domain before her? Was she, like them, not here out of a sense of macabre curiosity? Though she held no intention of desecrating this place — no more than how it currently stood, anyway — there was truth in her desire to see the extent of these horrors. She, just as they had, stumbled upon these barren walls with selfish desire. Where she differed, she supposed, was in her purpose. Where they came to experience, she came to understand. Though equally selfish in their origin, Jackie's ultimately focused herself on this world she was a guest in; she had no notion of marking the walls as hers, snapping the floorboards beneath her, nor did she intend to dirty this place any more than she'd found it — it was never hers, nor was it anyone else's, right to do so. Jackie stared towards the dim light, seeing it burn with the little strength left inside of it. The overworked machine, having struggled through the decades without human upkeep, let out its last weak roar, succumbing to the inevitability of its fate. More notable than the device, however, was the reason; that glowing dot, what had once previously been a steady rhythm of flashes, had stared at her with intent. Was it a person after all? She couldn't imagine a beast to fully grasp technology in such a way — then again, if forced to dwell in this place for as long as rumors suggested, she supposed it wasn't the most ludicrous adaptation for an animal to make. At the very least, Jackie wondered how the lone resident took to her presence. Jackie's gaze twisted to the TV, jolting her from her previous stance to face the now-illuminated screen. Though wary of the camera prior, she had assumed it to have been a remote tool — something that observed intruders from another, separate location. For the TV to switch on, then, lent more credence to the idea that this being held control over this house. And, based on the understanding of the disconnected necessities, it was even more likely to be the source of electricity itself. The vigilante placed a hand to her closer ear, hoping to save herself from the sound of white noise; but, shortly after the deafening sound greeted her, it began to dim however strangely. Emerging from the previously grating sound came something else, something beyond just the fury of a beast. No, it was something eerily human. They had a voice of their own from what she could tell. Even more so than a voice, they held a comprehension of conversation — and greater than the ability to speak, they had the ability to inquire. Had that been their answer to her question? A question in response to a question? Jackie supposed, if they were intelligent, they would want an explanation for her presence in their abode; she couldn't fault that logic, were that to be the case. Though the roaring sound of static had returned to the space, something new coincided with it. Amongst the black and white dancing across the screen, never maintaining any sort of coherence, there emerged a form — a continuous form, something not created through coincidence — that stared at her just as she looked upon the screen. If there had been any shred of doubt to the humanity of this being, their appearance would finally quell any and all such remaining notions. Such a silhouette couldn't be confused for anything else, and the animosity in the repetition of their question ensured their intelligence. Though electricity crackled near her feet, the vigilante kept her stance fixed on the spot. "I asked a couple of questions," she'd say as Pundit snuck behind her figure, "but if I had to guess shour mea'ing — or focus, I guess..." Jackie crossed her arms over her chest. If she were to be frank, there were a number of reasons they could have their question. "Why was she trying to speak with them," or, "Why hasn't she run away?" She didn't imagine most to converse with them, especially with regard to the "horror" of this spirit, and she couldn't imagine most would confront the entity directly. But, if she had to choose a response– "I'm 'ere because I want to see an' under'tand." She figured she'd start from the beginning. "What 'appened 'ere? Or, rather, what 'appened to shou?" She couldn't their story to be a flattering one. ✉ tag -- Yukine Kobayashi ✎ 751 words ※ "Why," Eh?

[attr="class","ache"]

MADE BY MIZO

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[Yukine Kobayashi]

The static that flooded the room also flooded the specter’s mind like a roar that drowned-out any coherent thought. It had made its demands, shouting “why?!” into the abyss. And as soon as it uttered those words, they vanished from its mind, and confusion set-in. Who was this woman– why was she there– did she intend to do his house, or him, harm?

"I'm 'ere because I want to see an' under'tand."

What was there to understand– what gave her the right to understand?! The girl continued speaking, and her questions wrapped dizzyingly around his mind, begging to be answered.

"What 'appened 'ere? Or, rather, what 'appened to shou?"

What had happened there? What had happened to him? The ghost grasped for answers but found none– decades of solitude had taken eighteen years of life and wiped them from his memory. He had no answers to the questions that the woman asked.

The ghost’s glowing eyes slid shut, leaving only the blackened silhouette draped desperately against the screen of the t.v. Its shoulders slumped in defeat.

<<I… don’t…>> the answer began to creak out of him, leaking through the t.v.’s speakers. A thought tugged at the back of the creature’s mind, only a snippet in-time. People that the spirit thought it should have known, their faces contorted in terror– the spirit reaching towards them, and the family fleeing from them–

<<They… left… me…>> the spirit intoned, <<My family- they->>

Its form shuddered on the screen.

They had left him in this house, alone, and forgotten about him! And she would leave him, too, as so many others had done before– he’d be nothing more than a story.

The spirit banged its fists against the screen, a dismayed and infuriated shriek escaping its mouth.

<<They left me behind to rot!>>

*Bam-! Bam-! Bam-!* The assault against the screen persisted relentlessly until *crack!* a spiderweb-thin line bisected the screen, sending half of it into a series of iridescent bars. The ghost paused, and then a wicked smile twisted at its luminous mouth– this was its door out. It redoubled its assault, deepening the crack, until *crash!*

The glass of the screen was sent spidering outwards. And, though the static-sound had ceased, a new hum pitched upwards as the spirit swelled, steadying itself with its massive hands as head and torso emerged from the television. Its body filled that half of the room, the electricity that comprised its armchair-sized hands lighting the carpet ablaze where it made contact.

<<Finally…>> it purred. It reached towards the pale-haired woman, its extended hand crackling dangerously. There didn’t seem to be any ferocity or malintent behind the gesture, but that did not change that something purely electric was reaching-out towards her with a hand that was only growing bigger the longer that it rested outside of the television. It still wore the crooked smile, its eyes wide and eager.

Everyone else had run away and forgotten him– but this one? This one could stay... he'd make sure of it.